There Is Little Choice In

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

For Death Remembered Should Be Like A Mirror, Who Tells Us Life’s But Breath, To Trust It Error.

Muster Your Wits; Stand In Your Own Defence.

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.